


Someone you loved

by resurrectedhippo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, M/M, Open Ending, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 15:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19135069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectedhippo/pseuds/resurrectedhippo
Summary: Harry meets a pregnant Astoria Greengrass. It's a pity because Harry wants Draco back.





	Someone you loved

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Lewis Capaldi's song, "Someone you loved" and the movie "Starting Over Again" (2014).

“Glad you’re back, mate. For good this time, right?” Ron raised his hand to the boxes in Grimmauld Place. 

Harry still wasn’t sure if he was staying. Too many memories, too many ghosts in each corner to remind him of his mistakes, his desires, and all the things he can’t have. 

He still wonders if it’s insane wishful thinking to return after eleven years have gone by. 

That’s the thing with magical houses though, they remain as they are. Centuries of magic prevent it from turning into a ramshackled shack. Grimmauld Place was just as pristine, obsessively neat, and smelling like fresh cut citrus. Just like Draco wanted it, and just like how Harry left it. 

There’s still a cup of tea under a stasis charm. 

Harry walks towards it, grabs the delicate cup, and shoves the earl grey down the sink. 

Harry shrugs. “I hope so.” 

*

Returning to England after almost a decade in America feels a little jarring. Jarring, in that not much has changed. In fact, it seemed that the more he reclused himself from the motherland, the more the wizarding world demanded Harry to show his face. 

Diagon Alley was just the same as ever. Indeed, there were new businesses, a handful of modernized wizarding restaurants that mixed Muggle culinary methods, new luxury boutiques that Draco would lose his head over. Who knows? He probably did. Harry wouldn’t know. 

There’s no point in keeping up with old lovers. 

But such a statement defeats the very reason he’s returned to the UK. Home. 

He ends up leaving Diagon Alley when a middle-aged woman walking down the street stopped in her tracks and rushed towards him. 

One of the reasons he left was due to the unbearable expectation of performing Harry Potter. 

He wanted to be no one in their eyes. 

It turns out, he became no one in Draco’s eyes too. 

*

Walking around the Thames reminds him of Draco Malfoy. 

He hasn’t so much uttered those two words out loud in years. 

Harry’s become reflective enough to know that Hermione stopped mentioning anything involving Draco Malfoy for Harry’s benefit.

As if why they ended was Draco Malfoy’s fault. Ron acted like the end Harry’s relationship with Draco was inevitable. That it was a pot of water waiting to boil. It would have happened soon enough.

And yet, Harry is here again. Home again. 

He’s such a selfish bastard. No, Harry doesn’t mean Draco. He means himself. 

He’s back to ask Draco if he wants to start over again. 

Not necessarily pick up where they left off – enraged and on the verge of throwing each other off a cliff or into the Thames. 

No, Harry wants a clean slate. Is it possible with their past? 

Merlin, surely, it must be possible. As two young men, barely men at all, still overcoming the woes of their boyhood and childish antics, they became lovers. Loving each other desperately, stupidly, and a reckless with each other’s feelings. 

He cared about Draco, loved him. But he didn’t understand him. 

Harry believed that the resentment for Draco’s role in the far was long forgiven and his actions justified. They were just puppets in a war after all. Two boys whose scripts were given to them as if it was a birthright. 

They didn’t know who they were, especially with the grueling expectations of who they were supposed to be. 

Or so Harry thought. 

Sure enough, conversations in the night about their life turned into fucking or full-blown arguments where one of them would threaten to hex each other into a bloody pulp. Sometimes hands were thrown too easily, and they’d end up bruised then sharing takeaway on the touch past midnight. 

*

He didn’t come back for George and Angelina’s wedding seven years ago. It seemed too early to return. It was only a few years after leaving. He was still getting used to New York, learning the weekend subway system and trying to figure out how to rent a car to go to upstate.

When he returned seemed fitting for him to consult as an architect for Angelina’s Weasley-Johnson designing firm.

“We’re so glad to have you here, Harry!” Angelina exclaims, hands on her pregnant belly. They were expecting a girl this time. Looking at the roundness of her middle reminded him that he missed Fred’s birth and that he only sent a package to Ron and Hermione’s children every birthday, every Christmas. 

He’s a bit fucked up, Harry thinks.

Isn’t that the very reason he left? To get better, to find himself, to experience life without the burden of his name? 

He kisses Angelina’s cheek. She was glowing. “Thanks for having me, Angelina.”

“Glad I got you before George weaseled his way into making you design another Weasley Wheezes shop.” She looked at the clock. “I have my last morning appointment right now, but we can do lunch in Diagon right after? I’ll be an hour though. We’re still working the concept of the expanding a wizarding flat for a nursery.”

Harry nods with a smile. As he’s about to exit through the double doors, he meets a slim woman, dark-haired, and with an air about her that bled elegance and dignity. 

He knew Pureblood when he saw it (given all the times Draco scolded him about tradition and manners). 

“Mrs. Greengrass.” Angelina greeted. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. 

“I’ve told you to call me Astoria.” She said with a grin, before turning a curious eye back to Harry.

“This is Harry Potter. He’ll be consulting with the firm for a few projects.” Angelina introduces them.

“Well yes, who could forget Mr. Potter? Hello,” She nods her head before taking a sit across Angelina. “Now about this nursery. You know my mother-in-law is partial to French, but I do adore Moroccan design for the rest of the house.”

“Yes, yes.” Angelina jumps back to her seat and takes notes on her parchment.

 

“Yes, your husband also mentioned a liking to the Scandinavian styled room, but it isn’t homey or at all kid friendly.” Angelina eyes Harry with raised eyebrows as if to say get out of here before turning her gaze back to Astoria. 

“I’ll handle my husband. For the nursey, I prefer an open space much like in those old American Muggle films. Linen, curtains, wooden floors, farm house widows?” 

Harry rolls his eyes and wonders what kind of house this Astoria woman would end up having with a mix of Moroccan and American. In the back of his mind, he wonders if the disregard to design and planning rules would produce something uniquely deceiving and beautiful in its own right, not an architectural mess. 

“Many interior designers in the states are now incorporating the farm-style and the Scandinavian styles to produce a modernized country look.” 

Angelina widens and subtle shakes her head. 

Harry holds his stance. Nonchalance. Hands in his denim jeans. 

“Is that so?” Astoria Greengrass raises her eyebrows, looking both crossed and amused at being interrupted. Her smile says Oh, you’re still here? “I’d have to tell Draco that.” 

Then it’s like his stomach hits the ground. 

“Draco? Draco Malfoy?” 

“Yes, my husband.” Astoria Greengrass nods sagely. “I’m sure I could convince him of sparing a glance at this country Scandinavian style you mentioned, Mr. Potter.” 

She stands and reaches for a golden pocket watch. It looks like something from the 17th century, with the chain and clasp. “Well, I must cut this meeting short. Will you please owl me about possible designs for the nursey?” Somehow the request sounded like a demand. This is way someone speaks when they know what they want and when they know everyone must accommodate their desires. 

She exits after sparing a curious glance at Harry.

“Angelina. Why didn’t you tell me Draco got married?” 

“Oh, Harry. Harry.”

*

That afternoon Harry sits at the Leaky nursing a beer. He wonders what the chances are of Draco Malfoy turning up, unmarried, forgiving, and still with the soft spot of the second room above the bar. 

Draco Malfoy never shows up.

He should have read the papers. 

*

“Give it up, mate.” 

“What?”

“Don’t think we don’t suspect the only reason you’ve been hanging around Angelina’s firm is to see Draco.” 

“I’m really not, Ron.” 

No, he’s more curious about Astoria Greengrass. Wondering how Draco fell in love with her. How he decided that, yes, they’ll be a family. That was never Draco’s thing. Family was always a hard line for Harry. Draco never showed any interest. 

Yet, there he is. Somewhere in England. Married. Expecting a child. 

“Sure, mate.” Ron rolls his eyes. 

*

That’s the thing with persistent people. They hang around, beg, and make enough hints, someone gives them what they want. 

He’s at Angelina’s firm again. The conference room on the first floor is a cool. Someone was too lenient with the cooling charms. 

He’s sitting in front of Astoria Greengrass. Somehow the table between them makes Harry feel like that’s the exact space separating them. As if he and Astoria weren’t completely different. They love the same man, don’t they? 

She sighs. Harry is sure she’s tired of their chance meetings at the firm. Astoria has a meeting with Angelina? Harry’s around discussing a permanent position with the firm. Astoria is having another meeting about the Georgian architecture? Harry’s there. Astoria is setting up her account for the billing fees with an intern? Harry’s also in the open lobby. 

“Draco and I, we don’t have that dramatic, raging relationship you might call romantic. We don’t let our feelings simmer into resentment or miscommunication. We nip our faults and shortcomings by the root.” She’s polite but the truth of the statement makes his ears ring. 

And isn’t that just a pity for him? 

Harry must admit that his relationship with Draco was a whirlwind of intense fights, even more explosive make-ups. But at the end of the day, they were still two young kids, barely adults and already veterans of war. Two fools who think they can call a relationship as fucking instead of love. Or at least, a willingness to listen. The drive to understand.

For Merlin’s sake! He was only 21 and their feelings suffocated him. He wanted Draco, all of him, but they still didn’t have the words to full decipher what patience means. What waiting means. 

“Yes, Mr. Potter, you’re right. Our relationship is nothing like yours. I’d never be able to withstand the man I love do something as stupid as ‘find himself.’ I understand why you left, and by now, I’m sure Draco does too. But it doesn’t excuse your flawed assumption that you can pick up where you left off.”

“I never assumed –”

“And yet here you are. Seeking him.” She puts her hand on her belly, as if to remind Harry that he’s lost Draco, that Draco has moved on. He wonders what would have happened if he stayed. If he wasn’t so much of a coward, or a man so fucked up by the war and his shit childhood. If he was sane enough to recognize when something was good. When someone wanted to stay. 

Maybe that was the part that Harry never understood about Draco. He was willing to stay. He pulled the covers over them in night and held Harry closer after parts of the war make it into his dreams. 

People leave, people die. He couldn’t risk himself being hurt. He’d be completely destroyed if something happened to Draco. If Draco got his head out of his arse and realized that he could have a life more than Harry has given him. 

It’s funny. In their time together, Harry was the one to push for kids, to have a family. Yet, he faces Draco Malfoy’s wife, and the baby they’ll soon bring to this world. 

Harry remains silent. He’s ashamed for seeking Astoria out. For rubbing it to her face that he was Draco’s past. All but arguing that so much history between them surely must mean something.

“The grand romance is all you and Draco. That’s fine. I’m happy he experienced that, despite the heartache. The pain of you leaving. All that brought him to me. He and I, we are a boring couple. Two friends who slowly fell and love and decided, yes, why not spend the rest of our lives together? If you want him, yes, he might leave me for you, and I won’t stop him if he chooses to go. But how are you so sure he’d leave me? As you said, you and Draco. You’re the past.” 

A beat passes. Harry stands. He wants to ruin his knuckles and fight a wall. Everything she’s said is true. 

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Greengrass.” 

*

He’s at the Leaky again, stupidly wondering if he’s not hexing himself by renting the second door upstairs. 

The room’s been used by hundreds of witches and wizards after his trysts with Draco Malfoy. That was years ago, and yet Tom’s done absolutely nothing to the rickety floors or the large chip on the foot of the bed. 

He lies in bed for hours replaying his conversation with Astoria Greengrass. The resolute and determination in her eyes and the way she carries herself reminds him of someone other than Draco. But he can’t place it. She’s fierce. Worse – Astoria Greengrass knows what she wants, and she knows that she has. She’s a woman unwilling to let go of good things. 

She’s not stupid. She’s grateful. 

Despite it all, Harry cannot find it in himself to resent her. 

There’s a knock on the door. Harry flicks a hand to open the door, already expecting the visitor. 

He sits up in bed as Draco closes the door then crosses the room to sit on the plush sofa at the corner of the room. 

He’s only several feed away but it’s like he’s miles from Harry. 

Belatedly, Harry thinks he should have seen Draco first. He should have gotten his head out of his arse a long time ago. 

Harry rubs a hand across his face. “Hi.”

“You have new scars.” Draco says pointedly at his knuckles and his forearms. 

“Yeah.” Harry pauses. “You still look like you did all those years ago.” 

There’s a small smile on his lips. “Thanks. You’ve certainly aged though.”

“Fuck off.” Harry says, suddenly self-conscious at his greying hair. 

“I meant it as a compliment.” 

They drink each other in. Draco no doubt mapping the lines on hairs face. Harry tries to remember all he can at the moment. Draco’s longer hair, looser, still white-blond as ever. He’s put on a couple pounds, no doubt a result of eating well and living a satisfying life. He’s still fit though, and Harry wonders if he’s still punishing himself every morning by running three miles. 

He probably is. That’s Draco. A man of routines and high hopes. 

“I hurt you.” Harry admits. He’s known it for a long time and what a fool he was to think he can come home and be with Draco again. 

Draco nods and it’s a sign of how much they’ve grown in the years between. The Draco he knew would stubbornly fight him to the death before admitting he was hurt. 

“Do I still know you?” 

“Parts of me, yes. But I’ve changed, just like you.” 

“I miss you.” It comes out like Harry begging for his life. Like a sob.

“Me too. I miss us, too.” But Draco doesn’t move towards Harry. He stays on the couch cross legged. The posture relaxed, but his face tense, like he was getting ready for a confrontation. And isn’t that what this very conversation was? 

“Congrats, by the way. On the baby.” Let him dig the knife further inside.

“Thank you. We are quite excited. It’s a boy.”

“Well, that takes care of the Malfoy heir, doesn’t it?” Harry doesn’t mean to sound resentful, but it comes out petty anyways. 

“That wasn’t the case with us. It wasn’t because we both needed heirs for our namesake or property, but because we wanted to.”

“I thought you weren’t the fatherly type.”

“I’m not. Not yet. It still scares the shit out of me, but I’m happy.”

“I’m glad.”

“Yes. Potter – Harry, I came because we need to talk.”

Harry holds up a head. “I know, I apologize for seeking out Astoria. Pestering her. Making her feel uncomfortable. I was an arse for trying to chase her away.” 

“She understands lost, you know.” Draco smiles as he talks about her, and then, Harry realizes what he’s known since meeting her – she’s bright, grounding, and deserving of happiness.

“When I left,” Harry pauses, watching Draco’s impassive face. “Let me explain this – just wait. When I left, I didn’t know what I wanted. I loved you then, I love you now, but I was to fucked up from the war. I … I was a mess, as you know.” 

That was the truth. What a surprise that between the two of them it was Draco Malfoy who was better adjusted. Not by much, mind you, but Draco knew his sins and what he wanted in life. He wanted an easy, quiet life, he told Harry as much. 

Harry was too restless, too haunted by his childhood, Vernon Dudley’s voice tell him he doesn’t deserve to eat, he doesn’t deserve happiness, or a family. 

So he left. Sort out his life, he said. 

But here he is in England, still a mess, but finally knowing what he wants. 

“We all were, Harry. It wasn’t a valid excuse for me then.”

“I needed to leave. I couldn’t stand it here.”

“I know.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you.” Harry trembles with the force of his emotions. God, he misses Draco so much. But the man that stands before him is someone who Harry can never have again. 

“I’ve forgiven you a long time ago.”

“Thank you.” 

They stay silent for a little while, the faint sound of the pub below bleeding through the silencing charms. 

“I’ll see you around, Harry.” Draco finally stands. Looking at him hurts too much, but Harry forces himself to smile. Until now, he doesn’t want to cry in front of Draco. 

“Yes, see you.” 

When the door softly closes, he lies awake in bed until morning.

*

Months later, Harry’s having Sunday brunch at the Burrow. His eye catches the name ‘Greengrass’ on the edge of the first page by chance. Tucked away in the bottom right corner is a small announcement on the birth of Scorpius Malfoy. 

He smiles at the name, no doubt picked by Draco himself. 

Mrs. Weasley puts an arm around him, peering over the photograph of a pudgy newborn blinking his eyes. “Good for them!”

“Yes, he’ll have wonderful parents.” 

_fin_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Keep No Record of Wrongs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20718269) by [Lannister_Debts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lannister_Debts/pseuds/Lannister_Debts)




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